


This Is What We're Doing Now

by Rave



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 13:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rave/pseuds/Rave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Cursed me,” Zayn said mournfully. “Mm’a victim.”</p><p>“Bollocks. I dared him to let me turn him into a person who lets himself have a little fun in public,” Louis said. “Temporarily! Temporarily. He’ll be back to his sulky old self in a couple of hours.” </p><p>“You put a curse,” Zayn said. “On me. You’re a bad friend. Can I touch your hair?” (Hogwarts AU Yule Ball snippet.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is What We're Doing Now

*

“Oi, Payne! Over here!” It was Louis, waving an arm from across the hall. He was holding court, perched on a table with his feet on the bench, and Liam saw the bright flash of Niall’s hair in the shifting sea of silk and velvet. Someone had a careless arm flung over Louis’s knee, and Liam was surprised to see Zayn -- because it had to be Zayn -- so demonstrative in public. It was one thing when it was just them.

Louis leaned down to whisper something into Zayn’s ear, and Zayn looked up. He was in his dark-green velvet vest and shirtsleeves, his tie askew. His hair stuck up halfway like he'd only gotten one hand's worth of product through it. His eyes were wide and dark and unfocused, and when he saw Liam an unexpectedly soft smile lifted one corner of his mouth. 

Zayn mouthed something -- _Liam’s here!_ \-- touching Louis’s ankle absently. He bit his lower lip for an instant, enough that Liam saw the gleam of white teeth. Over his shoulder, Louis grinned at Liam like a shark.

“Well, aren’t we _resplendent_ ,” he said as Liam got closer. His hair was in a painstakingly careless swoop, beneath which his eyes glittered with dangerous amusement. “Bedecked in scarlet and gold. You look like a Christmas ribbon. Joking, you look like King Henry the Fourth, it’s magnificent. And you’ve polished your shoes! I could weep.”

“Hi,” Zayn said softly. His head lolled slightly to one side, and when he smiled up at Liam he squinted as if he were looking into a bright light. “Hi.”

“Louis,” Niall hissed suddenly. The girl he’d been talking to -- a pretty brunette in a dress the color of dark wine -- was sauntering away across the sparkling floor, casting a quick wicked smile over her shoulder. “Louis. Louis! Who was that? Didn’t get her name. Louis!”

“One of my fifth-years, so don’t you dare,” Louis said. 

“Well, I will dare, so feck off. What’s her name, Tommo.”

“Starts with a D,” Louis said. “That’s all you get. Why didn’t you _ask,_ you donut?”

“Hi Niall,” Zayn said, slumping a little to roll his head in Niall’s direction. His face softened with fondness. “Sweet Niall. You’re a handsome old cake, Niall. You’re dependable, like a potato.”

“Hiya, love.” Niall patted his hair and Zayn nuzzled into his hand. "What's happened to him?" 

"Ah," Louis said. There was a tiny smirk in the corner of his mouth. "Young Zayn here thought he mightn’t have a good time at a school dance. Beneath his touch, you know. Thought he might not come at all, so I said, why don’t we--”

“Cursed me,” Zayn said mournfully. “Mm’a victim.”

“Bollocks. I dared him to let me turn him into a person who lets himself have a little fun in public,” Louis said. “Temporarily! Temporarily. He’ll be back to his sulky old self in a couple of hours.” 

“You put a curse,” Zayn said. “On me. You’re a bad friend. Can I touch your hair?”

“It was only a _pergraecari_ potion. It’ll wear off by tomorrow. And it was consensual,” Louis said. Zayn shrugged, wrinkling his nose, as if this were technically true but not worth mentioning.

“He doesn’t look like he’s having fun, he looks like he’s about to pass out on the floor,” Liam said, trying extremely hard to keep any expression whatsoever out of his voice. 

“Hi Liam,” Zayn said again. His head had slid back onto Louis’s knee, baring his throat. “Liam. Liam, hello.” Niall took his wrist and gently shook it, so that it looked like he was giving Liam a floppy wave.

“This is just stage one. Just wait,” Louis said. “Wait til the music starts.” From the sleeves of his robe he produced a little black flask, which he gulped from, made a hideous face, and then, shaking his head, passed to Niall. “Vile.”

“Is that the -- is that what you gave him?”

“Oh no. No no. Not to worry, lambkin, this is just standard-issue bathtub moonshine,” Louis said. Niall took his shot without flinching and tucked the flask into his own robes.

“This is stage one?” Liam echoed, glancing down at Zayn, who looked boneless and content as a cat. 

“I’m a bit nervous about stage two,” Niall admitted.

“Not as nervous as I am,” Zayn said peacefully, turning his face into Niall’s elbow. “You smell like jam. What’s _happening_ to me?” 

“Seen Styles yet?” Louis asked Liam, very casual.

Liam shook his head. Zayn had stretched out his long, lean legs so the toe of one dress shoe pressed insistently into Liam’s foot. “Probably picking up his date.”

“Probably forgotten there’s a ball in the first place,” Louis said, scanning the hall. “Probably asleep under a table somewhere. Probably flown off to fairy-land in a shoe. He needs constant supervision.”

“Mm-hmm,” Liam said. He scooted onto the bench, knocking his shoulder against Zayn’s. “You all right there?”

Zayn breathed out and leaned into him, just barely, so his arm was pressed up against Liam’s ribs. He wasn’t resting against Liam, exactly, but the tiniest fraction of his weight was warm on Liam’s side. 

“Bit of a mess, honestly,” he said, lifting his eyebrows like, _What can you do._ He grinned at Liam a little, lopsided and goofy, and Liam smiled back tentatively. 

“Bless,” Louis said fondly. Then he leapt to his feet, nearly catapulting Zayn to the floor. Liam grabbed instinctively for Zayn as he slid off the bench, catching him under one arm and around the waist, and hauled him back up. 

Zayn made a sleepy protesting sound, like a baby animal. His feet dragged on the flagstones, head knocking against Liam’s chin. He was warm and loose in Liam’s arms, smelling of cigarettes and sandalwood soap and a little like liquorice. 

“Whoops,” Zayn said, lolling his head back to smile muzzily at Liam upside-down. “My hero. Prince Liam. Wearing a gold horse.”

“Louis, you ass,” Liam snapped, but Louis wasn’t listening. His eyes were hawklike on the door to the Great Hall, and then abruptly he leapt off the bench and started pushing through the laughing crowd. 

“Must be Harry,” Niall said. 

“Yes,” Liam said grimly. Zayn’s shirttail had pulled out in his fall; he was trying to jam it back into his trousers, without much success. Liam batted Zayn’s useless hands away and tucked it in himself, neatly, without touching the fever-hot skin under Zayn’s waistband. “Daring to enjoy himself with somebody else, probably.”

“The man’s a monster,” Niall agreed.

“I’m ready to get up,” Zayn said abruptly. A long tremor went down his spine -- Liam felt it against his ribs -- and his body went tense against Liam’s. His hand, fumbling back, vised on the top of Liam’s thigh for purchase. “Yeah, think I want to get up. Niall! Is there dancing?”

“Nah. Not yet. I could dance for you,” Niall suggested.

“Yes you can,” Zayn said, with alarming enthusiasm. “In a minute. Need food first, is there something to eat?”

“That much I can help with,” Niall said. “Want me to squire you to the buffet, then?”

“Yes.” Zayn tried to push himself up, missed, stumbled, and grabbed Liam’s shirt to steady himself. He dropped his head to Liam’s shoulder and let out a long, uneven breath. Under his unbuttoned collar, a wild pulse ticked in his throat. 

“Help me up, Niall,” he said after a moment, voice muffled by Liam’s shirt. Liam could feel his lips moving against his shoulder, the warmth of Zayn’s breath even through the thick starched cloth.

“You poor stupid bastard,” Niall said kindly. “All right, up we go -- watch out for the chair -- there’s the boy, that’s grand. Have you walking on your own legs in no time. Practice makes perfect. Back in a tick, Li. Do you want anything?”

“Take your time,” Liam said weakly. “Er -- you can leave the flask if you like.”

Niall’s eyebrows lifted, but he only shrugged, reached into an inner pocket, and tossed the little bottle over. “Don’t make yourself sick. You’ve only got the one liver.”

“Kidney,” Liam said automatically.

“Whatever,” Niall said, looping an arm around Zayn’s narrow waist, and vanished into the crowd. 

Liam sniffed experimentally at the flask, winced, and took a burning swallow. 

“Wuhh,” he said involuntarily. Then he took another. It was awe-inspiringly horrible, like butterscotch and stomach acid. He squinched his eyes shut, opened his mouth a couple of times, shuddered, considered licking the table just to taste something else, and said “Hahhhhh.”

“Quite a reaction, Payne. Should I take it as a compliment?” It was Danielle, looking genuinely unbelievable in plunging crimson silk, and Liam stared up at her, momentarily speechless.

“No,” he managed after a moment. “Wait, yes. What?”

“Your face.” She settled herself next to him with a rustle of taffeta, patting his knee companionably. “Or were you just thinking about something else?”

“Louis made some kind of liquor,” Liam said by way of explanation, automatically offering her the flask because he was a gentleman, and belatedly realizing that of course the gentlemanly thing to do would have been to keep it away from her and bury it in a hole. 

Danielle recoiled. “Smells like syrup and pennies.” 

“It’s basically embalming fluid,” Liam agreed. 

“ _Louis,_ ” Danielle said expressively, and Liam nodded.

“Where is he, anyway? And the rest of the Lost Boys?” 

“About,” Liam said vaguely. He fished up a smile from somewhere and added, “You look really nice, you know.”

She smiled, lashes dropping. “You too. We match.”

“Always thought so,” Liam said, and then, self-consciously, “Was that a bit maudlin?”

“A bit.” She was still smiling, though. “You’re a good one, Payne. We’re still friends, aren’t we?” 

“Course. I hope so.” 

“Good,” Danielle said. “Cause I’m going to make you dance with me later.”

“Long as you promise to lead,” Liam said, nudging her shoulder with his. 

“You could lead if you practiced.” She nudged him back. “I think you’re just too considerate to do it properly.”

“Peazer!” Niall said, reappearing. “Hiya, gorgeous. How’s things?” He was balancing a couple of plates, laden with food high enough to defy God and science. Zayn was behind him, licking crumbs off his fingers. His eyes went from Liam to Danielle, then back to Liam. 

“Better if you’ll share some of that,” Danielle said easily. 

Zayn sat down by Liam, lean and tense. As Niall and Danielle chatted -- Niall purposefully, determinedly cheerful, herding the conversation like a sheepdog away from anything touchy -- he touched Liam’s arm. 

When Liam looked over at him he said nothing, only wrinkled his brow as if asking a question.

“What?” Liam said.

 _All right?_ Zayn mouthed.

“Oh,” Liam said, taken aback. After a second he nodded. He really was.

Zayn smiled with one side of his mouth. He squeezed Liam’s thigh just above the knee, like it was something he did all the time.

 

“What’s this band called again?” Liam yelled over the pulsing music, later. 

“Pilot’s Thumb,” Harry called back, not taking his gaze from the stage. He was practically glowing in the pale lights that swooped and flickered around them, and his eyes were wide. He looked angelic. “Aren’t they fantastic?”

“Massive!” Liam said happily. He felt pretty good about everything. He nodded along to the music, bouncing his shoulders, dimly aware that he probably looked like an idiot. There were people everywhere around him, dancing and yelling and stepping on his feet, and he was drunk and happy.

Then a cool hand slid up his back, and the smell of smoke and sandalwood was in his nostrils -- and snow, too, the snap of cold air, he’d been outside -- and Zayn said, “Hi,” very close, low and hoarse in his ear.

“You’re up!” Liam said. ”On your feet, I mean.”

“Look out,” Louis said, breezing past them. “He’s in a bit of a state.” 

“A state?” Liam said.

“Mm,” Zayn said. His eyes were bright and smoky. “Wanna dance with me?”

“What?” Liam said, taken aback, and then yelped with laughter as Zayn’s cold nose dug under his ear. “You’re freezing!”

“Yep,” Zayn said into the skin of Liam’s neck. He had never gotten so close, not on his own. He circled and stared, all dark eyes and contemptuous mouth. He let Louis push him around, he laughed and poked and played with Niall and Harry, but he was never like this with Liam. 

“Come on,” he was saying now, and he had the lapel of Liam’s dress robes bunched lightly in one hand. “Give us a dance.”

After a second Liam said, “All right,” and Zayn’s face broke into a smile that was just -- sweet. Not a smirk at all. He’d seen that look on Zayn’s face before, goofing around with Niall, or listening to Louis jabber about something. “You ready for this?” 

Zayn shrugged. The smile lingered in his mouth and his dark eyes. 

Liam tugged him into an idiotic step-touch waltz, elbows akimbo, pulling a ridiculous face at him. They were goofing around, like he would have done with Louis, or anyone. It was nice, getting to do it with Zayn. They spun wildly across the tiles. Zayn was laughing, his real laugh, and he yelped and threw up one leg dramatically when Liam dipped him like they were tangoing, his fingers digging sharp into Liam’s shoulderblades. “Don’t drop me!” he said, and his head fell back, very forties-movie-star.

“I’m not gonna drop you,” Liam said. “You don’t weigh anything.” It was true. He righted them and set Zayn on his feet. 

“There’s Harry. Come here, c’mere c’mere c’mere, be my arms,” Zayn ordered, grabbing his elbow, “no, get behind me” -- and Liam did, because they were doing this now. He’d done it with Louis; he’d seen Zayn do it with Harry. It was a game they played all the time. Zayn reached back, locking his wrists at the small of Liam’s back, and Liam threaded his arms through Zayn’s. His body was lean and warm and all angles. 

Liam patted Zayn’s chest and sides too hard, because he was a bit drunk and that was part of the game, and shouted into the cold shell of Zayn’s ear, “Where are my keys? Wonder where my keys are? Oh, hmm, not here. Not there either.” 

“I should try my front pockets,” Zayn suggested. Liam flattened his palm over Zayn’s face, glad Zayn couldn’t see the stupid smile on his face, and Zayn -- Zayn! -- blew a raspberry into it.

“Harry,” Zayn called. Harry glanced over, and Liam waved enthusiastically through the circle of Zayn’s elbows, then flipped Harry the bird. Harry grinned at them, flashed the fingers back. 

“I love you very much, Harry,” Zayn yelled. Liam made a heart with his hands. “Your bum looks fantastic,” and Liam pantomimed a back and forth spank -- and to his shock Zayn’s hips dropped in a sinuous, deliberate circle that made the movement into something dark and hot and not really a joke. His ass pushed back against Liam’s crotch, slow and dirty. 

Liam tried not to react, to keep his hands moving. They were just playing around. He gave Harry a thumbs-up.

“I know it does, it always does,” Harry yelled. “Avert your eyes, I’ve got a date.”

“I don’t see her,” Zayn retorted. His hips were still moving in a graceful low-level stutter, almost without his seeming to notice. 

“She’s still my date,” Harry said piously, turning away again. And what was Liam supposed to do with his hands? He settled for a kind of harmless, inane up-and-down wave, like he was trying to describe something but couldn’t remember the words. Harry wasn’t paying attention to them anymore. 

“We’re a really good dancer,” Zayn said suddenly. Liam could hear the smile in his voice. 

“No. We’re not. I’m not. You’re a good dancer.” He blew a strand of Zayn’s damp hair out of his mouth. “You can do -- hip things. I just wave my arms. But I guess they’re your arms now, so joke’s on you.”

“Joke’s on me,” Zayn echoed. “Hip things?”

“You know,” Liam said, embarrassed. He felt, rather than heard, Zayn’s laugh against his chest.

The music had become something slower and more intimate, with a deep insistent beat. The lights had gone pale blue, and in the winking swirl of them the Great Hall was like a ghost of itself. 

Zayn’s head had fallen back into the crook of Liam’s neck, so his throat was right by Liam’s mouth. They moved together, the tempo of Zayn’s movements lithe and easy. Liam realized he’d flattened his hand over Zayn’s lower belly, his thumb brushing the shallow arch of Zayn’s ribcage. He could feel the wild pounding of Zayn’s heartbeat against his palm, or it might have been the pulse of his own blood in his fingertips. He trailed his other hand down Zayn’s side, curious, because he was drunk. Because the taper of Zayn’s body was interesting.

Zayn ground back on him and arched his spine slowly, languorously, something delicious and filthy in the slide. He pressed his ass hard into Liam’s dick.

Liam yanked his arms away and leapt back like he’d been burned, managing a laugh. It seemed like Zayn’s hands tightened on the small of his back for a second before they let him go.

“That potion Louis gave you,” Liam said. He rubbed the back of his own neck. He was too hot, it was too hot in here and the music was too loud.

“Think it’s worn off,” Zayn said. Liam had never seen his face this close, close enough to see how long his lashes were and the smooth swell of his cheekbones. “Just having a laugh. Right?” He glanced up at Liam through those dark lashes. Then he reached up, like he couldn’t help it, and tugged thoughtfully at a curl over Liam’s ear.

“Let’s get some air,” Liam said hastily. 

 

“What was that music called?” Zayn was asking. “The kind of music, I mean. I’ve never heard that before, with that beat, and the...you know, when he was just talking, but it was also like music, sort of. It was something Muggles listen to, right?” 

The air in the gardens was cold but not unbearable, and snow had draped the topiaries in glimmering white, making them still and unrecognizable, like strange cloaked giants. They could hear the music drifting from the open doorways to the hall, the clinking of glasses, the dim roar of conversation and laughter.

“Dunno really,” Liam said awkwardly. “Suppose it’d be called, er, rap? Or hip-hop, or R&B maybe.” The words sounded impossibly prissy in his mouth. Zayn needed someone cooler to explain these things to him.

“I liked it,” Zayn said dreamily. He kept swaying into Liam and then pulling himself away, like he had only about half control of his body.

“Do wizards not have that?”

“Well, not that I’ve got to listen to before. Didn’t grow up with it,” Zayn said. “Muggle music, I mean, generally.” He breathed out white fog, and Liam realized Zayn was still only in his shirtsleeves and vest. His bare hands and the back of his neck were starting to redden with cold.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Nah.” But he tucked his hands tighter into his armpits. He was so small, Liam realized, watching him. You started to think of it as grace, not size -- like he did it on purpose, some sort of aristocratic thing. When in reality of course he was just skinny as hell. Liam slipped his arm out of one side of his heavy dress robe and swung it around Zayn, pulling him in.

Zayn breathed in sharp. Then suddenly his cold hand was on the side of Liam’s face and his mouth -- oh -- was on Liam’s in a hard, sweet kiss. 

It took Liam too long to register what was even happening. Then Zayn’s freezing fingertips brushed the skin of his belly, under his shirt, and Liam jerked away. He held Zayn’s wrists away from him. Zayn’s dark eyes were fever-bright: his lower lip shone. 

“Liam,” he said hoarsely. “Please. Let me--” 

“You’re drugged,” Liam finally said. His face burned. “It’s just -- whatever Louis gave you, you’re --”

Zayn was shaking his head. He was still half-wrapped in Liam’s robes, and his breath came in rapid shallow huffs. “No. Wanted to forever -- but I never thought -- don’t you _know_ \--?”

Liam didn’t want to know. He felt horribly sober. “It’s the potion, Zayn, I can’t let you -- in the morning, you’ll --”

Zayn made a desperate, frustrated sound. He leaned in, skinny wrists flexing in Liam’s grip, and kissed him again, harder this time. Liam closed his eyes. Zayn’s lips were chapped and his mouth was bitter from the cigarettes. He’d somehow gotten a hand free and he cupped Liam’s jaw with it, stroking Liam’s cheek with his thumb. He held Liam’s lower lip softly between his teeth for an instant, and Liam was panting when the kiss broke.

“This isn’t what you want,” he said. It came out ragged. Zayn’s waist was so narrow that Liam’s hand half-spanned his body, hip to spine. Liam hadn’t even realized he was holding onto him.

“How do you know what I want?” Zayn said, curling his fingers under Liam’s chin. There was a wild, shaky laugh at the back of his voice. “What’s the terrible thing you think is going to happen tomorrow? I’ll be embarrassed? A bit past that point, don’t you think?” He shifted, pressing hard into Liam’s thigh. 

“Don’t --” Liam tried, his voice climbing to a break, but their hips slid together and he felt Zayn’s shuddering exhalation against his jaw.

“Oh,” Zayn said softly. The corner of his mouth lifted in something like his usual smirk. “Mm-hm. I see.”

“No,” Liam said, attempting stuffy firmness: that usually worked on any of the boys when they got out of line with him. “No, just because -- just because of that. It’s not, it’s just -- it’s not an excuse, and -- _oh,_ ” 

as Zayn pushed one hand down between them. He palmed Liam’s dick and squeezed, slowly like he was savoring it, and Liam gasped and bucked into him. 

“Please,” Zayn said again, almost a whimper. He scraped his teeth over Liam’s shoulder. “Oh, God, please. You’re so hard. Just let me get you off.” His hand was still moving in firm, careful pulses. “I could -- with my hand, or my mouth -- whatever you want, if you just -- ”

Liam actually groaned, tipping his head back. He threaded one hand through Zayn’s hair, the smooth strands slipping through his fingers. The stars wheeled dizzily over them. Zayn on his knees, he thought wildly, Zayn’s eyes impossibly dark under the fall of his dark hair, mouth stretched around Liam’s dick, his cheekbones flushed --

\--and then a familiar voice said sharply, “--asked you a thousand times,” and Zayn jumped back. For an instant their eyes met, and Liam saw his own mindless panic in Zayn’s colorless face. Then Zayn clapped a hand over his mouth and practically shoved him back into one of the bushes, and Liam almost fell over and had to grab at Zayn to stay upright.

“Shh,” Zayn hissed. His breath was hot and damp on Liam’s earlobe. 

“Is that your wand or are you just --” Liam whispered back, barely containing a hysterical shriek of laughter.

“Wand,” Zayn said shortly. 

“Both,” Liam corrected him.

Zayn gave him a look. He muttered something, and Liam saw a kind of shade fall over the landscape, leeching the color from it like looking through a veil. 

“Are we invisible now? Is that what just happened?” Liam asked, and now he was laughing -- no, giggling, little whispery helpless snorts. “Could you not have done this when you _started_ snogging me in the public gardens?”

“Shut up,” Zayn said. His cheek burned against Liam’s, and his hips rucked against Liam’s thigh. Liam grabbed his ass in one hand, partly to keep him still.

“...taken that into consideration,” Louis’s voice went on. He was close, and he was angry. Zayn stilled to listen. His hand was still pressed under Liam’s waistband.

“I don’t see why you’re so worked up.” It was Harry’s voice, quiet, and he was angry too, Liam knew. 

“Why?” Louis said, sharply. “Oh, I don’t know, because it’s fucking _weird,_ mate, it’s embarrassing. It makes us both --” 

“It doesn’t make _you_ anything,” Harry said. “The way I _look_ at you? Jesus, Lou --”

“Because people bring it _up_ to me. So it’s my problem, because you make it so obvious, and -- ”

“Why don’t you tell them you don’t control my face,” Harry said reasonably. 

“I’m telling you. It makes people think --”

“Why should I care?” Harry interrupted. “Why do I care about that? It’s true. Why should I care what they think? What do I care if people know something true about me?”

There was a long, strange silence.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” Harry said at last. “I never did. But you know how I feel. I’ve never lied to you about that.”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Louis said, his voice sharp and dismissive, and Zayn met Liam’s eyes then. “We mess about a little, Styles, that’s all. You’re getting quite creepy about this.”

To Liam’s shock, Harry laughed. “Am I? I’m not the one showing up in _your_ common room at three in the morning, you know.” His low, hoarse voice was more sad than angry. 

“Look,” Louis said. “All I know is, I’m asking you for one simple thing, as a friend, and you --”

“--you’re asking me to change my _face!_ \--”

“--acting like I gave you a bloody engagement ring, when--”

“What do you want from me?” Harry burst out. “You won’t leave me alone! You bother me all night, you ruin it every time I so much as talk to anyone else -- and somehow I’m the one -- _I’m_ the one! -- when you --” 

The silence this time was different. Liam heard a tiny, muffled intake of breath.

“You can’t keep doing this to me,” Harry said hoarsely, after a long time. “It’s not fair.” 

“If you don’t like it,” Louis said, “you can walk away.” 

Another long pause. Then, “Go to hell, Louis,” Harry said, low, and then there was the sound of swift footsteps crunching away. For a long time, they heard the rustle of Louis’s robes in the slight winter wind. Then Louis turned on his heel and walked the other way. 

“Oh, bollocks,” Liam breathed. He waited for Zayn to say something. Zayn was quiet, though. His body was unexpectedly heavy: his head had dropped to Liam’s chest. “Zayn?”

“Hnn,” Zayn said. 

“Did you miss all that?”

“Mmm,” Zayn said. He rubbed his face absently against Liam’s collarbone like a cat. “What?”

Liam felt the ghost of a horrible laugh in the back of his throat. “Harry and Louis? Our best friends.” He thought fleetingly of going after them -- after one of them -- which one needed him more? -- and how would he explain? -- but then Zayn sort of coughed into his chest, and Liam thought: _Needed here, probably._

“No, I heard stuff,” Zayn said. He rubbed his hips almost unconsciously against Liam’s, trying to get comfortable. “Sleepy now, though.”

What even was this potion? He’d look it up tomorrow, Liam promised himself, if he made it that far. 

“Gnight,” Zayn said. He kissed Liam on the mouth, drowsy and chaste.

“Oh, no,” Liam objected. “Not under a bush in the snow. This is not happening --”

 "'Salright," Zayn said. "Happy here."

“Too bad.” Liam struggled up on his elbows, pushing Zayn up with him. It felt nice to cradle Zayn low at the waist like this, to feel Zayn’s sleepy weight on him. “Come on.” With a little effort he got them standing, basically holding Zayn upright. “Ow! Stay on your own feet.”

“You smell nice,” Zayn told him. 

“You’re so messed up right now,” Liam said. He was still sort of hard. Harry and Louis, he thought, but Zayn was pliant and happy in his arms, and it was really difficult to think about things.

Which, probably, was how they ended up at the door to Gryffindor Tower, instead of getting Zayn home.

“Password?” the Fat Lady said, regarding them with some interest.

“You look beautiful,” Zayn told her, with drunken sincerity. She dimpled at him, and the door -- to Liam’s horror -- swung open.

“Hey,” he protested, feeling that -- as a prefect -- he had some kind of duty to object to this sort of behavior.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t,” the Fat Lady said, contemptuously. Liam shut his mouth and lugged Zayn inside.

At first he thought he’d get Zayn in Teddy’s bed -- Teddy being more than likely to spend the night in Ravenclaw -- but Zayn clung to him, yawning like a cat, and when Liam let go of him to untie his own shoes, Zayn fell over backwards onto Liam’s bed, turning his face into the pillows, a dopey smile curving his mouth. 

“That’s my bed,” Liam said helplessly. 

“Yay, perfect,” Zayn said happily, and Liam gave up. He got Zayn’s shoes off and pulled him upright. “Sit up,” he ordered. Zayn watched him with dark, dreamy eyes. “Hold your arms up.” The silver buttons on Zayn’s vest stuck, but Liam managed to get them undone and push it down over Zayn’s shoulders. 

“Take off whatever you want,” Zayn said.

“I think we’re done taking stuff off,” Liam said. Zayn laughed, softly, and Liam grabbed his ankles and tipped his legs up onto the bed, ignoring Zayn’s mumbled objections.

He was -- and this was the only thing to feel good about -- sober enough to change into boxers and a t-shirt. He washed his face, brushed his teeth dutifully for the regulation two minutes. When he came back, Zayn’s eyes were almost closed, but his irises gleamed dark under his low eyelids.

“Hi,” Zayn said. He patted the mattress.

Liam hesitated. He could have gone back down to the Great Hall, see if Louis or Harry were still there, if they needed -- but what was there to be done for them, really, anyway. Zayn was so close to asleep. What harm could it do?

He lay down, shoving the comforter over to Zayn’s side. “I’ll take the sheet,” he said, “goodnight,” and he turned over, determinedly showing Zayn his back.

“Liam,” Zayn said peacefully. Then his mouth was trailing lazily over Liam’s neck, his tongue curling over Liam’s earlobe, and Liam shivered.

“Goodnight,” Zayn said. 

“Goodnight,” Liam said, hunching his shoulders.

“Kiss me one more time, what do you think,” Zayn said, the words gusting over the top of Liam’s spine. “Before it’s anyone’s fault?”

Liam rolled over. He watched Zayn’s face, close and lovely. Then he moved in and kissed Zayn’s bitten lower lip.

“Goodnight,” he said again. It came out too tender.

Zayn touched his face. The dopey smile hadn’t left his mouth. 

“You’re a good one,” he said. Then his eyelids drooped, and he was asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> They're at Hogwarts, and Liam is a kind and strong muggle-born Gryffindor and Zayn is Blazayn Zaynbini, basically. You know why this happened? It's because of [this thread](http://dorkorific.livejournal.com/99366.html?thread=1776422#t1776422) and then this gif:
> 
>  
> 
> BLAME TUMBLR USER RUBDOWN, BASICALLY


End file.
